


atom to atom

by myrmidryad



Series: show me something new [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dominant Grantaire, M/M, Spanking, Submissive Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing that everyone knows they’re together changes things. Enjolras is expected to lean on Grantaire a little. He’s not weak for turning to Grantaire for comfort or reassurance. He never does that in front of anyone else, of course, but he <i>could</i>, if he wanted to. If he needed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Strangeness and Charm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMfQIs96Lck) by Florence + The Machine.
> 
> Yay for acceptance!

It’s almost comical how nervous Enjolras is about telling everyone he’s in a relationship. He tries his hardest not to show Grantaire, conscious of how hurt he’d be, but his insides are still a buzzing mess on the day of their date. They’ll arrive at the sports hall together, hand in hand, and everyone will know the declaration they’re making.

He tells Courfeyrac and Combeferre first of course, and between congratulations they assure him that everything will be normal. They’ll all sit down and wave signs and shout support for Cosette and Éponine as usual, and nothing significant will change.

Except the entire dynamic of the group, Enjolras doesn’t say. Relationships always change things. There’s always the worrying what-if of a breakup hanging over everyone’s heads then; the fear of one day being forced to pick a side if a split goes badly. And Enjolras isn’t ignorant – he knows how much a breakup from him and Grantaire could damage the group as a whole. That’s what his nerves really come down to – with this move, there’s a risk of very public failure further down the line. And he hates failing at anything when people can see.

But on the day as they ride the métro to the hall where the roller derby match is being held, Grantaire keeps giving him these little smiles, pleased and shy and nervous all at the same time. Enjolras is the one who reaches for his hand to twist their fingers together, squeezing tightly as they emerge into daylight and head for the entrance to pick up their tickets. Grantaire’s palms are sweating, and that actually calms Enjolras down a little, knowing that he’s not the only one with the jitters.

The reactions of their friends vary. Jehan knew, Enjolras sees – Grantaire must have told them – but Musichetta grabs Joly’s arm and Bahorel grins so wide his eyes seem to disappear. Combeferre and Courfeyrac set the example, just nodding and making space for them on the benches they’ve claimed. They’ve got two benches so they can cluster together instead of being spread out in a line, and as they sit, Bossuet reaches down to squeeze Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire gives him a slightly wobbly smile, and Enjolras grips his hand tighter.

He knew on some level that Grantaire has vulnerabilities and weaknesses the same way as anyone else, but not seeing them until they started sleeping together seems to have made it harder for him to really believe it. The way Grantaire jiggles his leg and grins hopefully up at their friends behind them makes the knowledge real. Grantaire was far more nervous than he’d let on, clearly.

Before the match begins, as the team members are being introduced, Enjolras musters his courage and kisses Grantaire quickly on the cheek. He’s pretty sure he hears someone behind him coo, but Grantaire’s cheeks go pink and he ducks his head as he grins, bumping their shoulders together. It’s worth the risk of failure, Enjolras decides then and there. After all, without risk, nothing is ever achieved.

 

Enjolras is surprised by the difference it makes, being public instead of private. Grantaire had been miserable with their previous arrangement, that much is now obvious. If Enjolras so much as smiles at him when they’re in company, he lights up, and he’s spending more and more time over at Enjolras’ apartment for non-sex-related things. Enjolras had half-expected it to get boring or annoying, but it doesn’t. If anything, it gets better. He gets to see more of Grantaire than he’d even known was there.

It’s not immediately perfect, but knowing that everyone knows they’re together changes things. Enjolras is expected to lean on Grantaire a little. He’s not weak for turning to Grantaire for comfort or reassurance. He never does that in front of anyone else, of course, but he _could_ , if he wanted to. If he needed to.

That knowledge helps when it comes to sex. Enjolras feels less angry with himself for accepting tenderness and gentle touches, for greedily nuzzling into Grantaire’s offered embraces and letting himself be calmed and held. It’s still hard sometimes, but Grantaire never takes advantage. On one occasion, Enjolras has to comfort him for a change after Grantaire fucks him from behind with his hand gripping the back of Enjolras’ neck. Just his hand, no rope or even the gag, but something about it is powerful enough to rattle Grantaire.

And that, strangely, helps as well. Seeing that Grantaire can also be uncertain and scared of himself, that he doesn’t always know exactly what he’s doing. It’s a reminder that they’re both new at this, and both of them sometimes need the reassurance that the other likes what they’re doing. It’s okay to want the things they want. It’s okay to need it.

So now, finally, he feels ready to do this. He’s got the afternoon free, Grantaire’s not coming over tonight, he has an internet connection and hours at his disposal. He takes a deep breath, types ‘BDSM’ into the search bar, and dives in.

At school, a long time ago, a boy in a computer class had taken advantage of a teacher’s absence and poor internet safety filters to print dozens of pornographic pictures. Enjolras had watched out of the corner of his eye, and squirmed when he was called over and asked his opinion. They’d just wanted to embarrass him, teasing and snickering as they waved the pictures at him.

Women being fucked, women tied up, women in uncomfortable positions with their bodies open on the thin paper, presented for a classroom of horny teenaged boys. That’s Enjolras’ knowledge of bondage, expanded only a little as he grew up because it was still something only alluded to, and often something to be laughed at.

Foolishly, he looks at images first. They’re just like the ones the boy at school had printed out, and Enjolras stares in growing discomfort. All of them are women, no exceptions, and a lot of them wear pained expressions. A few are even screaming. At the first pictures of bruises and blood, Enjolras closes the window and pushes his hands through his hair.

That isn’t what he wants. That isn’t what Grantaire does to him. For him.

Grantaire doesn’t hurt him like that. He doesn’t hurt him at all. He just…dominates.

Enjolras makes himself coffee, building up his resolve again, and this time when he Googles, he stays in the web results tab. Unsurprisingly, the English Wikipedia page is much more comprehensive than the French one, and he flicks between the two, the familiar rhythm of research lending a reassuring detachment to the reading material. There are more pictures on the English page as well, but none anywhere near as scary as the ones in the image search.

Enjolras lingers for a long minute over a photograph of a woman in white lingerie, her legs spread by a metal bar and her body tipped forward, held up by her hands tied above her head. _This practice has a distinct effect of immobilisation and pain_ , reads the caption underneath, and Enjolras chews on his lip, then keeps scrolling down.

From Wikipedia he moves onto some research papers, then to fetish club sites (the huge increase of body diversity in their photo galleries is very reassuring), and finally to blogs and videos. By the time he stops it’s two in the morning, and though his eyes are dry and tired, he feels exhilarated. Even a little hopeful.

As his laptop shuts down, he finds the checklists he and Grantaire filled out, kept safe in a drawer in his desk. His laptop ceases humming as he unfolds them, lights flickering out, and he closes the top and spreads the paper on top of it, looking between them with a sort of jittery excitement.

What would it be like, to let Grantaire do more of the things on these lists?

Unbidden, the memory of the woman in white lingerie jumps to his mind, and he snorts out loud because how on earth would they attach a rope to the ceiling with enough stability to suspend a person from it? That’s one of the strangely mundane downsides to all of this, he’s realised – to do it ‘properly’ it involves a lot of time and occasionally expensive equipment.

But it’s not like they have to go out and get an Andrew’s Cross or something – the rope was intense enough on its own. Enjolras doesn’t need much, he doesn’t think. Not compared to some of the photos he’s seen now. He just needs…

What does he need?

He thinks it over as he gets ready for bed, and finds himself too wound up to sleep without getting himself off first. When he does, he lets himself imagine things from the lists properly, images from his hours of research providing more visual inspiration. Being immobilised appeals, enough to make him shiver and pant as his hand moves on his cock. He imagines Grantaire tying him to something so firmly that he can’t even budge, soft red rope wrapped in circles around his limbs from his toes to his neck.

His free hand grips the headboard, and he imagines what Grantaire would do then – would he tease? If Enjolras was tied face-first to something, against something upright, unable to see what was coming…Grantaire could use lots of different things, just playing with him. Nails, feathers, cutlery, fuck, anything he could find around the flat. And maybe…

His hips jerk as he imagines Grantaire’s hand coming down on him hard, leaving a red imprint behind. He’s seen so many photos and video clips of it now, he can see it clear as crystal in his head, almost feel it already. Shame curls in the pit of his stomach, but he makes himself think of Grantaire instead; his sure, steady hands and smiling mouth and deep voice.

His mind sticks on a memory of Grantaire pinning him to the wall, fucking him so hard, and he comes soundlessly, mouth open and gasping. He wonders, cleaning himself up and getting under the duvet, whether Grantaire thinks of this sort of thing as he jerks off as well. He’ll ask next time they see each other, if he’s not too embarrassed by then.

 

“I want to try something.”

Grantaire smiles, crooked and pleased. “Oh?”

He’s barely in the door, and Enjolras pushes it shut and kisses him to ease the nerves buzzing under his skin. Grantaire reciprocates gladly, sliding a hand into Enjolras’ hair and tugging, his other arm heavy around Enjolras’ waist. “Hi,” he smiles when they break apart, and Enjolras smiles back.

“Hi.”

“So what’s this thing you want to try? Because I have a confession, Enjolras, and you should know right now that if you’ve got any plans involving dancing, I will wipe the floor with you.”

“Right, like it would be so hard.” Enjolras has two left feet and no rhythm to speak of. “It’s more something…um, sex-related?”

“Well now you have my full attention.” Grantaire grins and kisses him again, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to make Enjolras catch his breath.

“Mmm.” He pulls back and licks over the mark Grantaire’s left, a little indent inside his mouth, and keeps his hands on Grantaire’s waist as he speaks. “I’ve been thinking of a few things, sort of…some of the things from the lists, and…stuff.”

“Eloquent.” Grantaire slides his thumbs under Enjolras’ shirt and rubs them against his skin. “Would it make it easier if I made you tell me?”

Enjolras’ curiosity overtakes his better instincts. “How would you do that?”

“I could tease you till you told.” Grantaire’s smirk is wicked, full of promise, and one of his hands leaves Enjolras’ waist to palm his crotch. It shouldn’t feel good, especially when Enjolras starts to get hard and shifts against the restriction of his jeans, but he can’t find any words to tell Grantaire to stop. Grantaire pushes him back a step to get his back against the wall and squeezes his ass with his other hand, biting at Enjolras’ jaw when he gasps. “I wouldn’t take any of your clothes off either,” Grantaire says, casual as you like with his fingers almost meeting between Enjolras’ legs. “Or touch your skin with anything but my mouth. You’ve gone all red already, Enjolras, so I know you’ll break if just this has you blushing.”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras breathes, and grunts when Grantaire massages his dick through his jeans, his other hand squeezing and squeezing, fingers digging in hard.

“You wanted to try something,” Grantaire prompts, not even slowing down. “Tell me.”

“Hgghhh…” Enjolras tries to grind against him, but Grantaire isn’t having it, moving his hand back as Enjolras thrusts forward.

“Ah ah ah, come on, use your words.”

He should really not be incoherent from this already, Grantaire’s right. But Enjolras’ jeans are so tight and Grantaire’s hand is making it worse, increasing the pressure – it’s uncomfortable, but delicious as well. It takes him several long seconds to order the sentences in his head, Grantaire’s hand on his ass insistent and amazing, grabbing so hard it almost hurts.

“I want,” he starts, takes a breath and tries not to moan as Grantaire presses both hands forward, making Enjolras rise onto his toes for a second. “Fuck, I wanted to maybe…ahh…” He tips his head back and closes his eyes, inhibitions pulled away by the desire fogging his mind. “For you to, to, tie me up?”

“I’d love to,” Grantaire purrs, teeth against his throat. “Is there more?”

“Mmhm.” Enjolras bucks into Grantaire’s hand and tries to catch his breath. “Plug me. I want…please, for you to plug me, and…” This is the hard part, and he’s rehearsed it, but it still takes Grantaire using the hand on his ass to push him against the hand on his crotch to blurt it out. “I want you to spank me. Grantaire –”

“Good boy.” Grantaire unzips his jeans and shoves them down, and Enjolras gasps as Grantaire spits into his hand and starts jerking him off, fast and ruthless. “I’d like to do it on your sofa,” Grantaire whispers against his jaw. “What do you think? I can bend you over it and spank you there. I’ll have to tie you up to keep you still, I suppose, hm?”

Enjolras can’t do anything but moan, and Grantaire kisses him fiercely, hand so tight on Enjolras cock that it’s a shock when he comes, his whole body shuddering into it and a shocked whimper torn from his throat, muffled against Grantaire’s lips.

“There,” Grantaire murmurs, rubbing a finger over his slit until Enjolras lets out a few choked noises. “Now you’re all nice and relaxed for me. You doing okay?”

Enjolras nods and kisses him again. Grantaire lets him for a minute, then pulls back and leads Enjolras to the sofa. “Towel,” Enjolras remembers, some presence of mind returning to him. Grantaire laughs.

“You get that, I’ll get the rope.” It’s kept in Enjolras’ bedroom now, in the same draw as his other sex supplies. He pulls his boxers up but steps out of his jeans and kicks them out of the way, getting a spare towel and coming out of the bathroom at the same time as Grantaire comes out of the bedroom. “Thank you.” Grantaire takes the towel and puts the things he got on the coffee table before spreading the towel over the arm of the sofa. Rope, lube, the plug, tissues, and wipes, Enjolras sees, anticipation making goosebumps rise on his arms. “You want a safeword?” Grantaire asks, sounding cautious.

The momentary break has let Enjolras’ fears sneak back in, a distant rising tide of worry and shame and guilt. He shouldn’t have asked for something like this; it shouldn’t be something he wants in the first place. The idea of himself on display for Grantaire, asking to be spanked like a child – it’s disgraceful. Disgusting.

It’s not, he tells himself, and takes a deep breath. “Just ‘stop’,” he decides, stepping close so Grantaire will touch him again, a hand on his hip and another on the side of his neck, something to ground him and reassure him that this is okay. “I trust you.” It’s okay to want this.

Grantaire’s answering smile is beautiful, and he leans up to kiss Enjolras, holding him close for a few seconds before turning him away and moving him to stand in front of the arm of the sofa. “How do you want your arms tied?” Grantaire murmurs behind him, hands encircling Enjolras’ thinner wrists. “Behind you? In front of you?”

This is okay, Enjolras reminds himself, and breathes out slowly. “You decide.”

“Sure?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He wants to see what Grantaire will do. He wants to be surprised.

Grantaire pulls his shirt off and smooths a hand down Enjolras’ back to the waistband of his boxers. It strikes him very suddenly that he’s almost naked already, but Grantaire is still fully dressed. Before he can think further on that, Grantaire’s pushing him down. Enjolras slows his descent with his hands, and frowns when he realises how uncomfortable this position is. The sofa isn’t short enough for his knees to touch the floor, or tall enough for him to put his feet down flat, so all the pressure goes on his hips.

“Hm.” Grantaire sees the problem too, and rubs a circle against the small of Enjolras’ back. “Wait there.”

Enjolras pushes himself up on his arms and watches as Grantaire collects all the cushions from the sofa and chairs, and gets the pillows from the bedroom as well. He taps Enjolras’ legs when he comes back, getting them straight so he can build a small pile of cushion and pillow below where Enjolras’ knees will go.

“Try that.”

Enjolras lowers his knees and smiles. “Perfect.”

“Slippery though.” Grantaire hmms again. “If they slide, I’ll tie you to them or something. That should work.”

Enjolras is pushed down against the sofa again, and Grantaire gets the duvet and bundles it under him so he’s not leaning forward quite so much, not bent at such an unforgiving angle. Once they’ve got his positioning figured out, Grantaire pulls him upright again and gets the rope. The process is strange – they’ve never had to prepare like this before, but it’s nice. Not hot; it’s not winding Enjolras up the way Grantaire’s teasing does, but it’s strangely intimate, being measured and weighed like this, Grantaire checking every step to make sure nothing will go wrong in the middle and mess up the mood. In having to tend to the mundane, it makes the whole process more normal. It takes some of the pressure off.

Grantaire arranges his arms in a couple of different positions before he takes Enjolras’ hands and lifts them to his shoulders in a sort of surrender posture, palms facing forward with his elbows tucked against his sides. And while leaning over the sofa hadn’t been hot, being tied up _is_. They haven’t done more than his wrists before, and Enjolras’ eyes fall half-closed as Grantaire starts at his right forearm and wraps the rope around it, and around the back of his arm as well, keeping Enjolras pulled together. It goes across his chest, his back, and then over to his other arm.

The red stands out against his skin, bright and brilliant and gloriously soft, taking the pressure off his muscles as he relaxes into the restraint of it, cock stirring again as Grantaire finishes up and ties the last pressure point between Enjolras’ shoulder blades, dead centre.

“You should see yourself,” Grantaire tells him, coming around to look at him from the front. His lips are parted and there’s an obvious bulge in his jeans. Just from tying him up, Enjolras thinks, captivated by the proof that Grantaire wants this as much as he does. “How does it feel?”

“Amazing.” The word is out before Enjolras can think of something more neutral, and he feels heat rush to his face as Grantaire’s smile turns into a smirk

“Have you been thinking about this a lot, Enjolras?” The familiar taunting tone is back, but combined with the constant pressure of the ropes around his arms and torso, it goes straight to Enjolras’ dick. He drops his head, feeling the rope move against his chest with every breath he takes, and Grantaire laughs, stepping behind him again. “I bet you have,” he teases, dragging his nails up Enjolras’ sides and then down his legs. “You were so specific when you asked, after all. You want to be tied, plugged, spanked, and I assume fucked at the end. Have I got all that right?”

Enjolras wets his lips, but doesn’t answer. Grantaire’s hand slides up and rubs his ass before delivering a firm smack that makes every nerve in Enjolras’ body leap to attention. He straightens with a sharp intake of breath, and Grantaire’s teeth find his shoulder, the warmth of his body and the softness of his t-shirt against Enjolras’ back, pressing the ropes into his skin. It’s that that makes him nod, whispering, “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

“I can’t wait,” Grantaire confesses, and pulls away. He pushes Enjolras to kneel on the cushions, and then bend forward over the arm of the sofa. He’s lowered by Grantaire’s hand on the ropes, and Enjolras is so glad he can hide what he’s sure is the desperate expression on his face, because that feels _so good_ , to be moved like that with no ability to reach out and stop it, the weight of his own body distributed where the rope lies over his skin, like Grantaire’s holding him in all those places at once. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to, and he presses his face into the duvet and tries to get himself under control as the suspension ends. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but he would happily have stayed in that position for longer, just held up by rope.

Grantaire’s hands drag his boxers down to his knees, recapturing his attention. He shifts, expecting them to be taken off completely, but Grantaire just laughs. “Nope, not today. Stay still, Enjolras, come on, can’t you control yourself?”

Enjolras huffs. “I thought the whole point was that you did the controlling.” He can’t help smiling when Grantaire laughs again, delighted this time.

“Very true. Controlling and spanking. Just my hand, yeah?”

“Plug first,” Enjolras reminds him, and Grantaire gives him a swat that makes him wriggle, an unexpected laugh hitching his chest.

“I know, I know. You have thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

It’s _fun_. He’s enjoying himself, practically giddy with excitement, the anticipation of what’s coming filling him up with it. The realisation is enough to make Enjolras’ eyes widen, so caught up in his own surprise that Grantaire’s lube-cold finger against his entrance makes him yelp. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

“Not for long.” Grantaire’s free hand presses firmly on his tailbone. “I should’ve used more rope. Who knew you could be so wriggly?”

“You did.” Enjolras’ eyes slide shut as Grantaire pushes his finger in slowly.

“Hmm. How’s it going, Enjolras?” Grantaire pulls his finger out and just rubs it against Enjolras’ entrance, teasing with two fingertips but not pushing in even when Enjolras twists his hips. “Living up to your fantasies?”

“It would be if you could go a little faster,” Enjolras snipes, and Grantaire laughs but doesn’t oblige. This is more familiar, Grantaire refusing to do what Enjolras wants while Enjolras curses him, but this time every twitch reminds him of how his arms are tied, how he can’t move properly, and it’s perfect. He’s hard again, clenching around Grantaire’s fingers when he deigns to let Enjolras have them, frustrating him in the best possible way.

As if Grantaire would just let him have what he asked for without adding in torment of his own. He barely fingers Enjolras at all, doesn’t use more than two digits (though he makes sure to stretch Enjolras properly, if not often enough for Enjolras’ liking), and just keeps teasing his entrance, rubbing gentle circles against the sensitive skin, tracing it lightly with his nails, flicking it gently a few times when he figures out that it makes Enjolras writhe and twist.

“So desperate,” he grins, leaning down to blow a stream of cool air over it. Enjolras whines, and Grantaire traces the trails of lube that have dripped down Enjolras’ inner thighs with a fingertip, using the same one just to press the tiniest bit inside him. Barely a centimetre, just enough to make Enjolras want to cry for how much he needs more.

“Grantaire, come on, please, you _bastard_ , stop fucking torturing me!”

“You asked me to,” Grantaire reminds him pleasantly, and slides his finger halfway in. It’s more, but it’s nowhere near enough. One finger is nothing, especially when Grantaire won’t even move it. Enjolras buries his face in the duvet and yells, almost a scream of frustration, and that’s when Grantaire pulls out, then shoves two fingers in and starts fucking him with them nice and hard.

It’s such a relief that Enjolras can’t even speak, just lets out little, “Ah-ah-ah,”’s with his eyes squeezed shut, grateful beyond words. Grantaire stops too soon, of course, but then he slides the plug in, and that’s good, that’s wonderful. Enjolras sighs, clenching around it and trying to relax a little. Grantaire rubs the small of his back and makes a fond noise.

“You’re burning up, Enjolras. Your chest must be as red as the rope by now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Enjolras mumbles.

Grantaire snorts, and his hand draws back. A tap on his ass is all the warning Enjolras gets before the first smack. It’s not gentle, not at all, and Enjolras gasps at the pain, so sharp and sudden it makes his stomach tremble. “ _Fuck_.”

“More or less? Hard, I mean,” Grantaire asks, worry tinging his voice.

“Same.” Enjolras twists his head, trying to look over his shoulder. Grantaire steps sideways so Enjolras can see him properly – he’s taken his shirt off at some point, when did that happen? – and Enjolras fixes him with a look that he hopes conveys how very much he wants this. “Same, again, please.” He’s breathless, and Grantaire grins and moves back to hit him again, on the other cheek.

It hurts, it does, but it feels incredible. His cock is pressed against the sofa with every blow, and he clenches over and over around the plug, needing more, going out of his mind as Grantaire speeds up into a steady rhythm. Neither of them talk – maybe neither of them can – and Enjolras lifts his hips and begs for more with little gasps and whimpers, heat flaring in his ass with every smack.

There’s no space for shame or thoughts more complicated than _yes_. Grantaire doesn’t leave any gaps long enough between strikes, and it fills Enjolras up and unravels him, so intense he can hardly breathe. Grantaire slows after a little while, despite Enjolras’ whine of protest, but when the next smack lands right over the plug he bucks his hips, pleasure like a shock twisting straight to his stomach.

“I have never needed to fuck you more than right now,” Grantaire sounds strained, and Enjolras moves his mouth, swallowing before he can form the words.

“Do it, fuck me, please, fuck, please –”

“Still then.” One hand grips his hip, holding him still as another pulls the plug out. It’s replaced almost immediately by Grantaire’s cock, longer and infinitely better. He manages to slap Enjolras’ ass a few times between thrusts hard enough to make the sofa rock, and Enjolras rolls his hips, still gasping pleas like a stuck record.

It’s so good, it’s everything he needed, everything in the world, everything is this, this, this, the rope around his arms and chest and Grantaire holding him where he wants him, setting him on fire. Then, best of all, Grantaire reaches down and yanks Enjolras’ hips back from the sofa just enough to wrap a hand around his cock. There’s still lube on the inside of his thighs, and some of it slicks Grantaire’s hand as he jerks Enjolras close, closer, right up to the edge and over.

Enjolras is shaking, his whole mind white with pleasure. He twitches a few times as Grantaire keeps his hand moving, making sure he gets everything Enjolras can give before he comes as well, a hoarse groan and stuttering hips signalling it.

Enjolras floats, totally boneless as the world seems to shift around him. He comes back piece by piece, curled against Grantaire’s chest on the sofa, wiped clean but still half tied up. He concentrates on taking deep, steadying breaths as Grantaire unwinds the rope from his arms and lets it drop to the floor.

“Thank you,” Enjolras murmurs as Grantaire kisses his temple and pulls the duvet over both of them.

“Thank _you_.” Grantaire lets out a breathy laugh and hugs him. “Fuck, Enjolras. _Fuck_. I’ll be more coherent later, I swear, but right now all higher brain functions are dead and I’m just…really fucking happy. Are you okay?”

Enjolras shifts so his ass isn’t on Grantaire’s thigh, sliding down so he doesn’t have to sit on it at all. “Sore.” He smiles, more relaxed than he thinks he’s ever been. “Amazing.”

“I’ll get like…lotion or something for that.”

“Later.” Enjolras pulls Grantaire down with him, the two of them in a duvet cocoon that doesn’t quite cover their legs and won’t be comfortable for very long. “Stay. Aftercare’s cuddling, right?” He remembers that from somewhere, and Grantaire beams and wraps an arm over him, pressing little kisses to his forehead.

“Right.”

He’s so in love. Enjolras registers the thought and presses his lips to Grantaire’s neck. He mouths the words against the skin there – “I love you.” – but doesn’t say them out loud. Not yet. When he’s less dopey, then he’ll say it. Right now, all he wants to do is sleep and stay curled up with Grantaire on the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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